


your heart, it feels like home

by 528loves



Series: when it's just us [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cuddling, Fluff, Inspired by Canon, M/M, a little bit of hurt/comfort as a treat, mayb a smooch...maybe, two (2) sleepy boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23061775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/528loves/pseuds/528loves
Summary: It paints an odd picture, seeing the two of them together—Renjun and Jisung, the oldest and youngest of their friend group respectively, curled up around each other in a tangle of arms and legs and gentle snoring. Large and small, yin and yang.But in Jaemin’s eyes, that’s code foradorable.[Or: 3 times their friends catch them cuddling, and 1 time they actually do something about it.]
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Park Jisung
Series: when it's just us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735912
Comments: 26
Kudos: 270





	your heart, it feels like home

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by: 
> 
> 1\. [this](https://twitter.com/mirage0205/status/1234135305248133123) rensung airport pic  
> 2\. [these](https://twitter.com/323_dream/status/1221063456285028354) vlives ft. jisung lying in renjun's lap  
> 3\. rensung being roommates in [kobe](https://twitter.com/renminrise/status/1234772994142003200) and [jakarta](https://twitter.com/_hwangtwt/status/1234469621635248129) this year
> 
> and [these](https://twitter.com/renjunthelight/status/1234472815983648771) [two](https://twitter.com/renjunims/status/1234475782136725504) tweets :D

_one_

Jeno’s lost his glasses again. 

He wakes up with a start, automatically feeling around for the half-rimmed glasses that are usually perched on his nightstand. Usually. They aren’t there today, which is mildly worrying since he’s almost half-blind without them. 

But then he remembers he crashed pretty early the previous night—embarrassingly early, because he was bone-tired and slightly tipsy after having a few celebratory drinks—and decides to worry about his missing glasses later. Right now, the most important thing to him is the fact that he’s done with his exams. Thinking about his temporary freedom makes him heave a big sigh of relief, and he flops back into bed, bathing in the warm sunlight that washes over his room. 

He checks the time. It’s 3 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, in the lovely month of April. 

Jeno is _delighted_.

He ends up procrastinating for two more hours before his stomach grumbles loud enough to make him realize he should probably go find his glasses. So he forces himself out of bed and into the hallway, yawning and shaking off the last dregs of sleepiness. It’s suspiciously quiet today, especially for a place that houses six rowdy college boys, but Jeno would never complain about the silence; the relative peace is nice for a change. He can only tolerate so much daily hollering before wanting to bury himself in a mountain of pillows to escape the noise. 

He’s halfway to the kitchen when he suddenly realizes that maybe the house isn’t _totally_ quiet. There are muffled sounds coming from the living room, so he heads there to do some sleuthing, certain he’ll find at least one hint of his missing glasses. Everyone likes to joke that Jeno’s two favorite places in the world are his room and the couch, and while he’ll never admit it, they aren’t exactly wrong.

Luckily, he spots his glasses sitting on the coffee table near the TV. They’re folded neatly without a speck of dust anywhere, and he slips them on, blinking a little in satisfaction. He could almost kiss his past self for foreseeing this. The room is clearer now, the sunlight much brighter, and, oh, the faint noises he heard earlier are coming from the movie that’s currently playing on screen. 

Curiosity makes him stick around for another moment. It only takes him a few minutes to conclude that it’s a documentary of some sort, about….space. Or aliens. Or maybe conspiracy theories? Jeno’s not too sure. But since he’s already here, he figures he might as well ask the two blurry humanoid shapes he’d seen on the couch upon entering the room. So he turns around, only to find— 

Renjun and Jisung, fast asleep against each other. 

Jisung’s head is tucked comfortably into the crook of Renjun’s neck, dark hair fanned out against Renjun’s fair skin, glasses slightly askew and cheek smushed up against his shoulder. None of that seems to bother Renjun, though, if the way his head is resting on top of Jisung’s is any indication. And both of them are snuggled so close to each other that Jeno’s touch-starved instincts are almost barking at him to join them. 

Jisung’s even _snoring_ , which means that he’s well and truly knocked out. And feeling very cozy, by the looks of it.

Jeno sighs. He supposes that instead of catching up on his favorite shows, he’ll just dig out the last game he bought and vegetate at his desk for a few more hours, waiting for Jaemin to come home. The fact that Renjun and Jisung are both sleeping doesn’t even make sense to him—as far as he knows, they’re not the ones with hectic exam schedules that would warrant naps in the middle of the afternoon. 

But because he’s not a dick, he decides to leave them alone. After all, hurling his one-hundred-and-forty-pound body at them might be a harsh wake-up call. It doesn’t stop him from pouting, though, as he makes his way back to his room, swiping an apple from the kitchen counter and wondering absently why they’d chosen to watch _space_ documentaries of all things when movies like Harry Potter were much more interesting. 

Jeno will never know this, but there are a few things that escape his notice when he leaves. He doesn’t see Renjun crack one eye open, watching his receding footsteps. He doesn’t see Renjun smile to himself, pressing his cheek firmer against Jisung’s hair; and he certainly doesn’t see Renjun tighten his arm around Jisung’s shoulders, pulling him closer even though they’re already glued at the hip. 

Some things are best left just between the two of them. 

  
  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  
  


_two_

“Thank you,” Jaemin says to the delivery man. Bowing slightly, he signs his name with a flourish on the electronic pad and returns it with a reassuring smile. “Yes, I’ll make sure it gets to him. Have a nice day.” 

After the man waves goodbye, Jaemin closes the door behind him, trying to contain his mild curiosity about the parcel that had just arrived. Most of them are too broke to afford anything more than the bare necessities—because life as a university student is rough sometimes, though Jaemin usually tries to look on the bright side—so this is something new, something exciting. But further inspection reveals the name _Huang Renjun_ printed in the corner, and Jaemin can’t help but be a little disappointed. Just a little. Knowing Renjun, it probably has something to do with art supplies or new clothes. 

“Renjun!” Jaemin calls into the house, brows furrowing as he peers closer at the package. On the side is some hastily scribbled handwriting, and if he squints, he can vaguely make out the hurried strokes of _No returns!_ inked in permanent marker. “Injunnie, this came for you!”

There’s no response. 

So Jaemin heads for Renjun’s room, humming to himself. The evening’s cool, the breeze wafting through the window lightening the stale air in the house, and who can blame him for being in a good mood? He _is_ rather curious about Renjun’s package, even if he’d never open it for him. Part of him wonders if it’ll turn up at some point later on. Whether it manifests in one of Renjun’s canvases or a matching accessory with one of their friends, he knows he’ll be pleasantly surprised. 

The light’s on in Renjun’s room, so just in case he didn't hear Jaemin the first time, Jaemin calls again, a bit louder, “Injun, there’s a package for y—”

—and shuts his mouth immediately, eyes going wide. 

In front of him is probably the most adorable sight he’ll ever see in all his four years of university: Renjun and Jisung, cuddled together, taking a nap. But not just any nap, of course. Jisung’s flopped himself down on _top_ of Renjun, taking up most of the bed with his limbs splayed out, head pillowed on Renjun’s chest like he’s an oversized puppy. Or a large fawn. 

Jaemin reigns in the one thousand emotions in him that are somehow all screaming at the same time and breathes in deeply, counting to ten. He will _not_ cry because his friends are too cute, he _won’t_ , because that would be embarrassing, and then he’d have to explain to them why there’s a puddle of tears and snot and ooey-gooey mushy feelings all over the floor. So he won’t cry. 

But he will take a commemorative photo, because it would be almost criminal not to. 

He hurries back to his room, setting Renjun’s parcel gently on his desk, and picks up his camera from where it’s stationed proudly on its stand. Holding his breath, he tiptoes back to Renjun’s room and tries to think of how he’s going to capture this. He’s lucky his friends have long since given him permission to photograph them whenever he wants—right from the beginning they’d understood his bright passion for photography, and he’s always been grateful for that. (“You can only take my picture if it’s not embarrassing,” threatened Donghyuck three years ago, back when they’d first met. The rest of them had eventually agreed. “And you have to let us see it afterwards.”)

He decides to dim the lights to a level that’s not completely dark, but just enough to give off an ambiance of warmth. He places Renjun’s favorite Moomin plushie beside their heads, tries to fluff up one of the pillows (which is harder than he expected, since he doesn’t want to wake them up), and finally settles down in the chair across from the bed. 

They look so serene that he suddenly wants to cry again. Granted, he’s pretty sure there’s drool drying at the corner of Jisung’s mouth and a speck of lint buried in Renjun’s messy hair, but to Jaemin, that’s all part of capturing the natural side of them. So he ends up leaving them as they are and begins snapping a few pictures. 

The first one is a half-body shot of them dozing peacefully, swathed in Renjun’s colorful blankets, taken from above as Jaemin stands on top of the wobbly chair and tries not to die. The second one is a close-up shot of their almost-touching hands—he has half a mind to move Jisung’s hand one centimeter to the right, yet he proudly restrains himself—Renjun’s mole a stark contrast against the white sheets, dwarfed by the shadows of Jisung’s long, slender fingers. The last picture is of their faces, and he thinks he might be the most proud of this one. He’s always preferred capturing backgrounds with a single subject as his centerpiece, but something about placing his friends in this personal project makes everything feel more _raw_ , the vulnerability on their faces all too revealing of the comfort they find in each other. 

Pleased, he sneaks out of Renjun’s room and sits back down at his own desk to review his work. To the simplest of minds it would paint an odd picture, seeing the two of them together—Renjun and Jisung, the oldest and youngest of their friend group respectively, curled up around each other in a tangle of arms and legs and gentle snoring. Large and small, yin and yang. 

But in Jaemin’s eyes, that’s code for _adorable_. In Jaemin’s eyes, that’s how he knows he’s done his job well. 

He doesn’t pat himself on the shoulder, even though he feels like he deserves a reward. Actually, his reward will be to touch up the photos and then give it to them when they’re ready. When they’re finally _together_. Maybe it’ll be in a month, or maybe it’ll be in half a year; regardless, Jaemin has a gut feeling that something is going to give soon, whether or not they can see it coming. And if not, he’ll just have to take matters into his own hands. 

For now, though, he smiles to himself and opens his laptop. He hopes they’ll like it when they see it in the future. 

  
  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  
  


_three_

The opportunity’s way too good to pass up for someone like Chenle, who has relatively little self-control. 

To be fair, it isn’t _his_ fault that he found Jisung in Renjun’s room. They weren’t doing anything funky, obviously, lest they wanted to suffer from hearing Chenle scream his lungs out first thing in the morning, but it _was_ rather alarming to see another suspicious lump in Renjun’s bed. Then he’d looked closer. When he could vaguely make out Jisung’s mushroom-cut hair poking out from underneath Renjun’s blankets, he snorted, unable to stop himself, knowing that Jisung was probably thrilled to be there, since his friends were both such _fools_ for each other. 

Only a couple minutes have passed since he set foot in the room, but he freezes in surprise when Jisung suddenly kicks off the lower half of the blanket. He stays still, waiting with bated breath for a few moments, before he realizes that they’re both still asleep. He also realizes that there’s an even funnier part to all this—when he sees the sight before him, he has to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle. 

He tells himself that it’s only natural to want to take a picture of them, grinning at the thought of using it as blackmail later. It amuses him so much that he leaves the room, whisper-yells, “Haechan-hyung!” down the hall, and then goes to retrieve Donghyuck himself when the latter doesn’t respond the first time. When he shows Donghyuck the photo, trying to speak through hiccups of laughter, Donghyuck grabs his phone and snickers with him just outside of Renjun’s room. 

Because of course Jisung’s the little spoon. Jisung, the tallest one among them all, is the _little_ spoon. He’d never thought about it before, but it actually makes a lot of sense. 

For all of Chenle’s teasing, the longer he looks at the picture, the more he can’t deny that they really are cute. Renjun’s arm is looped protectively around Jisung’s waist, small hand enveloped in a loose grasp by Jisung’s larger one, face buried in the nape of Jisung’s neck as their legs slot together. Ever the romantic, the only thing Donghyuck says is that he isn’t sure how Renjun can breathe. Chenle points out that love can make you do crazy things, to which Donghyuck simply shrugs.

“I dunno about you, but we can’t let this opportunity go to waste.” Donghyuck brightens all of a sudden. “Wanna draw on their faces?”

Chenle perks up too. He would _love_ nothing more, but a tiny, conscientious part of him hesitates, wondering if it’ll really be alright. He loves his friends. He’s also one hundred percent sure they’re in love with each other, yet taking the blunt route may not be the best idea. “Won’t they get mad?” 

Donghyuck waves a dismissive hand. “C’mon, Chenle. Have you really learned nothing from me? Live a little! Here—” He plucks a black marker from Renjun’s pencil holder, brandishing it in front of Chenle until a grin slowly reappears on his face. “One for you, and—” He takes another one for himself with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “One for me.” 

Chenle finally accepts it, ready to wreak havoc on his best friend. He uncaps the marker and prays Jisung will forgive him quickly. 

“Let’s do this.” 

  
  
  
  
  


“ _LEE DONGHYUCK!_ ” 

Donghyuck spins around in his swivel chair like some sort of villain, steepling his fingers and cocking an eyebrow at Chenle. There’s a smug expression of self-satisfaction on his face that Chenle doesn’t think is entirely fitting, given what’s about to happen. “And so it begins.” 

Renjun bursts into the room, a small ball of fury followed by a larger, panicky mess, and Donghyuck takes one look at their faces before he starts laughing. The sound is full of unrestrained glee. Chenle glances up from his phone just in time to see Jisung’s hand covering his cheek as he looks at each of them in turn with wide eyes, apparently too shocked to say anything—which is fine, because Renjun does all the talking anyways. 

“Lee Donghyuck, you motherfucker, is that _Sharpie_ on my fucking face?” 

As he advances on him, the expression of nonchalance melts off of Donghyuck’s face in an instant. Chenle is mildly disappointed, because when it came down to it, Donghyuck still cracked like a little walnut, not a single drop of courage left in him. “No, no! I swear it’s not, it’s just a washable marker—” 

“It fucking _better_ be, you absolute ass—” Renjun picks up a stray pillow, chucking it with a surprising amount of force at Donghyuck’s head. “I have a presentation at a conference tomorrow, did you even _think_ of that—” 

Donghyuck’s panicked eyes tell Chenle that he did not, in fact, think of that. “Uh—” 

“Donghyuck, you ignorant slut—”

“Okay, wait, you do _not_ get to quote The Office at me right now, that is _so_ unfair—” 

“ _Unfair_ is scribbling on someone’s face in black marker when they have to present in front of a hundred people the next day!”

“I’m sorry! It was just a joke—” 

“And did you think about Jisung, either? He has a super important interview in, like, two days or something—”

“Hyung,” Jisung whispers to nobody in particular. Chenle looks at him, even though he’s not being addressed right now. “Will soap and water work?” 

Renjun and Donghyuck are too busy squabbling to pay attention, so Chenle nods. Jisung sighs in relief. 

“Thank god, I thought I’d have to wear my feelings on my face forever,” Jisung mumbles to himself. He’s blushing, mortified, pink down to the collar. Chenle rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe Haechan-hyung would do that to us.” Letting out a nervous, high-pitched laugh, Jisung rubs at the marker stains on his cheek that read _Huang Renjun, light of my life_ in surprisingly neat handwriting (which Chenle’s proud of, actually). “I mean, what was he thinking?”

Chenle has to bite back a guilty grin. “Right, I can’t believe he did that to you. Both of you. That’s awful of him. How could he do that?” 

Despite all the yelling, Donghyuck’s razor sharp ears somehow manage to catch that from across the room. He points an accusatory finger at him. “Jisung, don’t listen to whatever that brat’s telling you. _He_ was the one who drew on your face. _I_ only drew on Renjun’s— _mmph_!” 

Renjun wrestles him into a chokehold while Jisung gapes at Chenle, his mouth the perfect O-shaped picture of betrayal. 

“Wait a minute, why did _you_ draw on _my_ face?” He sounds offended, as if the mere idea of Chenle not choosing to sabotage Renjun is unfathomable to him. 

But Chenle is smart, not suicidal. So he let Donghyuck write _Park Jisung, my one and only_ on Renjun’s cheek, knowing he’d pay for the consequences later—as in _now_ , since Renjun’s currently ordering him to fetch a towel and water and also fifty dollars to cover the costs of emotional damage. 

Chenle’s all tongue in cheek when he shrugs. “Because why not?” 

“Wow, thanks.” Sarcasm drips from Jisung’s voice. “Do I even want to know what else you guys did while we were sleeping?”

Chenle thinks back to the pictures on his phone; the first one of Jisung and Renjun cuddling, the second one featuring their newly adorned faces. “That’s all we did, I swear! It’s all for fun, anyways.” 

Jisung narrows his eyes in suspicion. “I’ve got no choice but to believe you, do I.”

“Yep.” Chenle grins. “Just think of it like this, Jisung. At least Renjun knows how you feel about him now!”

Jisung only pouts and looks into the mirror. And, okay, Chenle might feel kind of bad, so he caves and gets a towel for Jisung too, helping him scrub off most of the black ink until there’s a bright patch of pink skin on his face. Jisung stumbles out of the room, muttering something about needing another nap to forget the morning’s events but being too scared to sleep in this house anymore. Chenle simply laughs at him and chucks the towel into Donghyuck’s hamper. 

In another corner of the room, Renjun and Donghyuck are having a rapid, hushed conversation that Chenle’s not sure he wants to be privy to, so he finally decides to leave and relax from all the chaos. He finds Jaemin and Jeno lurking in the hall, trying and failing to hide the mild curiosity on their faces. 

“What hap—”

Chenle shakes his head. “Nothing much.”

Jaemin shares a look with Jeno, the indecipherable one that Chenle hates and never understands. “Does it have to do with Renjun and Jisung?” 

“Maybe…” He eyes Jaemin suspiciously. “Wait, how’d you know?”

Jaemin grins. “I didn’t, but I do now. What happened?” 

Chenle pauses, thinking of how to phrase it. “Let’s just say…they’ve been made very…self-aware.”

“God, finally.” Jeno lets out a sigh. “Thought I’d never stop seeing them cuddle everywhere.”

“Oh, you too?” Delighted, Jaemin shakes his shoulder a little. “I even took a few pictures, they’re _so_ cute together—”

“Of course you did.” 

“I did, too,” Chenle offers. His photos, however, are probably a lot less flattering than Jaemin’s. “Jisung was in Renjun’s room this morning.”

Jaemin hums, ignoring Jeno’s confused expression. “Isn’t it nice that they’re finally getting closer? Renjunnie would never admit it, but I think he likes it too.”

Renjun definitely likes it, otherwise Chenle would be hearing an earful of Chinese complaints every single day. And even he thinks they make a good match, both so different yet oddly similar in the most unexpected ways. 

In the end, Chenle just wants his friends to be happy. With the way Jisung talks about Renjun—from the doe-eyed admiration he’d retained since day one to the soft looks and gentle touches he now gives Renjun whenever the latter isn’t fully paying attention—Chenle made up his mind a long time ago that if anyone should make Jisung happy, then it should be Renjun. 

He wistfully looks back at Donghyuck’s room and smiles. The bickering has started again, Renjun and Donghyuck’s voices rising in volume, but this time accompanied by laughter on both of their parts, hard feelings clearly gone. “Renjun…I think he and Jisung are good for each other.” 

And he leaves it at that. 

  
  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  
  


_plus one_

The sweltering summer heat is getting to him. 

It’s hot, it’s humid, and his shirt is sticking uncomfortably to his back. He’s pretty sure he’s leaking sweat from every pore of his body. It’s nighttime, too, but he can’t even use sleep as a distraction because their shitty air conditioner is broken again and the fan is too loud and everything feels like it’s been amplified a thousand times. 

Yet Renjun will be _damned_ if he moves an inch, because Jisung is lying down on top of him. 

Under normal circumstances—as in, anyone other than Jisung—he’d shove away whoever was on top of him and stubbornly stew alone in his own sweat. _Especially_ in this weather. But here’s the thing: Jisung’s had a long day. He’s been rejected by interviewers left and right this whole week, and today he hadn’t managed to get the internship he’d been hoping for the most. The one he’d been talking about all summer with hope in his eyes, the one that Renjun had constantly encouraged him to apply for. 

Truthfully, Renjun didn’t even know what had happened until Jisung had turned up at his doorway a couple of hours ago. It was normal for them to cuddle at night now, one of them always sneaking into the other’s room when everyone else was asleep. He supposed it had something to do with how they were both so accustomed to sharing body heat that it was difficult for them to fall asleep without each other. 

So what had stunned Renjun today was seeing Jisung’s head hanging low, shoulders drooping, shadows cast over his eyes. 

They’d hung out earlier, when Renjun had bought him snacks from the convenience store. Jisung had seemed fine. Normal! But tonight, he just stood there, morose; unmoving until he grabbed Renjun’s hand, tugged him backwards towards the bed, and—all without uttering a single word—flopped onto his chest, immediately closing his eyes. 

It happened so quickly that Renjun barely had time to protest before being crushed under Jisung’s lanky frame, squeaking out a surprised _oof_. Another second passed, and he could feel Jisung’s shaky hands curling into the sides of his shirt, bunching up the thin fabric in an almost desperate attempt to touch his skin. 

That, too, was a new development. 

“God, Jisung, it’s too hot for this…” Renjun pinched the bridge of his nose. He was still a little amazed that Jisung had chosen to come to him. Breathing in once, he changed tactics and opted for a more soothing approach, because Jisung was obviously agitated enough to want to stick to him despite the mugginess. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

Jisung shook his head and burrowed deeper into Renjun’s neck, huffing out little breaths of air. Renjun held back from commenting on how sweaty they both were and instead ruffled Jisung’s hair with fondness. 

“Gonna cry?” he teased lightly. He let out a soft laugh and combed a hand through Jisung’s bangs again, making it neater. “Don’t cry, baby. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

He’d been hoping to elicit _some_ sort of reaction from Jisung, but there was nothing except for another shake of his head, which meant that there was something _really_ wrong with him if he wouldn’t even respond to Renjun’s jokes like he normally did. 

And then Jisung leaned in, mumbling something low into his ear, and Renjun winced. Understanding finally dawned on him. 

“Ah, Jisung…” 

It wasn’t Jisung’s fault, of course. Jisung had a unique way of thinking, something that awed and inspired Renjun constantly even if he rarely admitted it; a brilliant mind hidden underneath layers of dumb jokes and bad puns and relentless back-and-forth teasing. Renjun would do anything for Jisung to smile now. He missed the way he’d fall onto Renjun’s arm, doubled-over with squeaky laughter, hands grasping at anything to steady himself, while Renjun laughed with him and at him, helpless to the way his hand automatically found the nape of Jisung’s neck to pull him closer. 

He wanted all that again, but he also wanted to tell Jisung that it would be okay, because he and so many others went through this as well. Rejection was tough, and it didn’t do good to dwell on bad things. As cliché as it sounded, everyone just pushed forward in life. And even though Jisung probably knew all that already, that didn’t mean Renjun didn’t want to _tell_ him. 

There were so many thoughts and feelings clanging around in his chest that the words simply bottled up in his throat, making frustration well up underneath his skin. He wished the heat would stop clouding his mind so that he could tell Jisung to look on the bright side, but—

It seemed that Jisung was already asleep.

Part of him wanted to scream. The warmth of Jisung’s body was suffocating, burning Renjun up from the inside out and threatening to crawl up his throat. His mouth was dry as a desert. At this rate, he was almost convinced he’d be able to breathe fire. 

But then he asked himself how he could be a good friend—a good _hyung_ —if he didn’t let Jisung have this one thing, and so he swallowed his complaints, leaned his head back against the pillow, and wrapped an arm snugly around Jisung’s shoulders, hoping his heartbeats might calm the other boy down even in sleep. Offering physical comfort was the very least he could do for him, no matter how hot or tired he was. 

Which is why it surprises him when, two hours later, Jisung suddenly lifts his head and breaks the silence.

“Renjun.”

Renjun thought Jisung had been asleep the entire time, so Jisung’s hoarse voice startles him despite the fact that he has no energy left to act startled. He doesn’t even comment on the lack of honorifics (because honestly, it never really mattered to him), choosing instead to watch Jisung carefully, like a skittish animal that might flee at the wrong word. 

“Yeah?” 

Jisung is uncharacteristically quiet, gaze focused on the pillows behind them. If Renjun wasn’t still suffering from the heat and the general fatigue of staying up until 3 am, he’d also say that Jisung is hesitant. 

“What is it, Jisung?” 

Still no response. When it becomes apparent that Jisung’s not going to do anything except stare, very intensely, at a spot just beyond Renjun’s cheek, Renjun lets his head fall back onto the pillow. He sighs and glares up at the ceiling. 

He’s trying so hard, but the heat is eroding away the last of his patience. He takes a deep breath, wills himself to string together a few more coherent words for the boy lying on top of him, who deserves nothing but the best. “Please, Jisung. Either sleep, or—” 

“Thank you for being here for me.”

Jisung murmurs it so quietly that at first Renjun isn’t sure he heard anything at all. And then it takes time for his brain to process it, the words floating in through one ear and out of the other before it sinks in. Park Jisung is thanking him.

Wait, Park Jisung is _thanking_ him? 

Renjun whips his head up. He nearly has a heart attack when he sees Jisung’s face right in front of him, and they both jolt back a little in surprise. Renjun doesn’t know if it’s just because he’s tired and hot and cranky, but some small, curious part of him thinks that right now, Jisung looks…

Different. 

He’s no less handsome than usual, of course. The moonlight trickling in through the window brings out the curves and angles of his face, all sharp-jawed and soft-cheeked and bright-eyed, tiny mole hidden in the shadow beneath his lips. Renjun mentally traces a line down the delicate slope of his nose, back up to his fine brows and the small droplets of sweat on his forehead, and then that’s when it hits him—he’s never seen this much uncertainty on Jisung’s face before. 

Too used to his playful self, he’s never seen the way Jisung’s gaze keeps flicking back and forth between Renjun’s lips and his eyes, like he’s asking permission for something but isn’t entirely sure he deserves it. He’s never felt the ache in his chest that arises only when Jisung looks at him with innocent, raw hope, because before Jisung there hadn’t really been anyone else who’d broken down his walls to this extent. 

And yet Renjun’s stuck with the nagging feeling that there’s something _missing_. There must be, if they’re already pressed chest-to-chest and hip-to-hip and he still wants to get even closer. Something keeps stirring restlessly underneath his sternum, too, like every atom in his body is on edge and waiting for something to happen, driving him nearly mad with how much he despises the feeling. He’d do anything to get rid of it, except that it doesn’t disappear on its own no matter how hard he tries to will it away. 

Just when he’s almost ready to burst from anticipation— 

Jisung swallows nervously, and opens his mouth. 

And then it _clicks_. 

The solution is so obvious Renjun could laugh. 

It’s instinct, next, that makes him lean forward to meet Jisung’s soft lips with his own. It's instinct that makes him cup Jisung’s face with warm hands and an even warmer heart. Because it’s him, not Jisung, who has to take the last step, to bridge the gap between them, to close off the last millimeter of space before their lips finally touch. 

And Jisung absolutely _melts_. 

The tension leaves his body so noticeably when he reaches up to grasp Renjun’s wrists, like he’s trying to make sure he won’t escape. Renjun wants to tell him he’s not going anywhere, that he doesn’t need to worry, but then Jisung sighs into the kiss, sweet and languid against his mouth, and distantly Renjun thinks that he could get addicted to this. It’s a dangerous thought for his heart, because even though he’s bearing the brunt of Jisung’s weight, he can’t stop himself from smiling, which in turn makes Jisung smile, until they’re both grinning like idiots instead of kissing, the fire in Renjun’s veins cooling to a familiar simmer and spreading calm throughout his entire body. 

He can be here for Jisung, like this. It might not be what he’s used to, but he welcomes the new butterflies fluttering in his stomach. In fact, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted this for a while—he doesn't know how long, exactly, but at some point he’d remembered looking down at Jisung’s head every time they cuddled and wishing he could stroke the nape of his neck, thread his fingers through his soft hair, nip at his cheeks and plush lips and little bump on his nose. 

So he does all of that now, relishing the arms that Jisung wraps around his waist in return. And if he whispers something into Jisung’s ear between kisses, something that makes Jisung blush and laugh for the first time that night, then that’s just between the two of them to know.

Jisung finally pulls away after a few minutes, staring at Renjun like he’s hung the moon and stars. His cheeks are pink, his hair is dishevelled, and Renjun’s heart is so, so full. 

“Hyung…” 

“Mmm?” 

“You’re really cute.” Jisung lets out a pained noise and buries his face into Renjun’s neck. It tickles. “You’re so cute, hyung, what am I going to do?” 

Renjun can’t help but laugh incredulously. He squishes Jisung’s cheeks together, amused when his mouth forms a pout. “That should be my line, dummy.” 

They lie there for a few moments, enjoying the silence and each other’s company. The crickets chirp in the background and the fan in his room whirs distantly, a little less louder than before; everything blending together in a soothing sort of white noise. 

And then Renjun remembers how uncomfortable he is. 

“Hold on.” 

Jisung seems better now, so Renjun decides he’s had enough of this heat. He grunts as he pushes the younger boy off of him, unimpressed at his fleeting expression of hurt, before settling in _beside_ Jisung instead of underneath him. Snuggling closer, he allows himself to rest his head on Jisung’s shoulder. Just this once. 

A little shiver runs down his spine as Jisung’s arm hesitantly encircles him. In response, Renjun hooks their ankles together, breathing a sigh of relief now that he’s no longer squished.

“Alright,” he says, pretending to be exasperated. “Can we _please_ sleep now?” 

Normally they’d stay up to talk longer, but tonight has already been exhausting, and the thought of sleep is so very tempting. Besides, Jisung sounds equally tired when he replies with a smile in his voice. 

“Okay, hyung. But only because you asked nicely.” 

Nicely. 

Renjun thinks he’s nice. It’s not that Jisung softened him, but he fit together with Renjun’s rough edges; made him more caring, more self-aware in ways he hadn’t been before. He likes to think he had a good influence on Jisung, too, and judging by the way Jisung had come to him tonight, seeking comfort, he probably did. 

People have always told Renjun that it’s never a good idea to be romantically involved with someone you live with. Too much can go sour, and he gets that. But he’s also willing to see where things go—slow or fast, he doesn’t really have a preference; he just hopes that at the end of the day, he’ll have Jisung in his life. If not by the shape of their bodies or the familiarity of their scents, they still know each other in so many different ways—not to the point where they can read each other’s minds, of course, though that’d be pretty cool—so Renjun will carry this hope with him right next to his heart. 

And he’s certain that Jisung feels the same.

(Later, he’ll find out just how _much_ Jisung feels for him, through gushy stories from Jaemin or exasperated comments by Chenle. They’ll tell him that right from the beginning, Jisung had nursed a ridiculously large crush on him; that he’d been too shy to approach Renjun until the older boy had reached out, again and again, to invite him to events or help him with his homework or ask him how his day went; that through the increasing time they’d spent around each other, he’d been thrilled when he found out they shared the same interests. 

Inwardly, Renjun will be thankful that he decided to invite Jisung to movie night all those months ago, back when he was bored and looking for someone to talk to. Outwardly, he’ll raise a skeptical eyebrow and ask for proof. None of his friends will be able to provide any, but they’ll swear upon their graves with varying tones of intensity. And that? That will be good enough for him.) 

Almost as if he can hear Renjun’s thoughts, Jisung rubs his shoulder with a sleepy hand. It’s a silent request to stop thinking so loudly, and Renjun complies as he closes his eyes and smiles. He supposes he’ll always relent when it comes to Jisung.

So he curls an arm around Jisung’s waist and lets sleep overtake him. 

  
  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  
  


_plus two (epilogue)_

It’s sort of embarrassing, but Jaemin’s looking for a camera lens he’d foolishly misplaced a few days ago. He can’t remember where he last put it. He’s trying to be calm and trust that it’ll turn up somewhere, because the alternative is that Jeno’s habit of losing his glasses has somehow rubbed off on him, which means that he probably needs to take better care of his things. Either way, the thought makes him shiver.

He first decides to check Jisung’s room, making a beeline for his desk. It’s pretty much a sanctuary for a dozen little trinkets that have always been puzzling to him—they’re not all useful, although he’ll admit that some of them are quite cute. There seems to be more of them this time around if he looks closely, some bearing Renjun’s signature style: creative, colorful, classy, and unique; and it makes Jaemin curious. He lets his gaze roam the walls and wonders if there are any more signs of Renjun’s presence in Jisung’s room.

The answer? Most _definitely_. 

He only needs to spare a couple of cursory glances at the walls to realize that Renjun’s been drawing for Jisung recently, small paintings of animals or trees or flowers that the younger boy has hung up using multicolored tape. Jaemin vaguely remembers walking in on Renjun painting some of the art that now decorates Jisung’s room, but that had been weeks ago. He’s impressed. Back then, he thought it was for a school project or a gift for someone else, mostly because he knows Jisung doesn’t like receiving things—he’s got a ridiculous no-gift policy and claims he’d rather choose a good meal over tangible displays of luxury—but apparently that won’t stop him from accepting whatever Renjun gives him. 

There are enough paintings that they’re starting to cluster around each other in a few areas. There’s even a tiny sketch of a cartoon mouse near Jisung’s bed, accompanied by a much clumsier scrawl of something that might be a cat (or maybe a fox?), though Jaemin’s not too sure. He scans the entire room again, on the lookout for anything vaguely shaped like a camera lens. Just as he comes to terms with the fact that he won’t find it here, he suddenly spots a few familiar pictures.

The ones of Jisung and Renjun sleeping. 

Oddly enough, they’re not on Jisung’s wall. They’re tucked into the open wallet on his desk, peeking out beside his credit card and an old movie ticket stub. Jaemin thinks back to Renjun’s copies that are also not hung up, instead framed near his laptop right next to the photos of the rest of their friends. 

He smiles to himself, content, and closes the door behind him when he leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> this was very self-indulgent and rough but at least it’s my first completed fic :’) 
> 
> thank u to my friends for hyping me up regardless, ilysm <3
> 
> edit 02/04/20: rensung cuddling and renjun big spoon is [Canon](https://twitter.com/NCTsmtown_DREAM/status/1245638442597273600)


End file.
